


Poetry is a domestic art, most itself when most at home

by OnForeboding



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnForeboding/pseuds/OnForeboding
Summary: A series of domestic prompt fills of a vague Modern AU (for now) fromthis prompt listMore prompts welcome!As always and still, reviewed by the lovelyLinzTitle by Seamus Heaney





	1. Sulking - Countryside living - Pets

Silver slapped his neck for the third time in the last 5 minutes, in a vain attempt at killing one of the million mosquitoes around the river. How was this supposed to be relaxing? As with everything, he decided to make his feelings known.

“How is this supposed to be relaxing?” Silver waved the fishing rod from side to side.

“I’m starting to wonder the same thing myself,” Flint grumbled, just loud enough for Silver to hear.

Silver decided to pretend he hadn’t heard it. “What did you say?”

Flint grabbed Silver’s wrist, to stop him from waving the fishing rod around. “I said, you’ll scare the fish like that.”

Silver huffed a long suffering sigh. An uneasy silence settled between them. Silver tried his best to sit still and appreciate his surroundings. The dragonflies were sort of pretty. In an ugly alien bug sort of way. Oh god, one was flying his way! He started waving his arms around preemptively.

“Fuck sake! Can’t you be still for five minutes? What’s wrong with you?!” Flint growled.

Silver quickly pondered his options here: he could make a very city boy scene and storm off; he could apologise and continue to endure this torture disguised as a hobby; he could just approach this rationally and explain this was not the type of activity that he found enjoyable.

“You’re so fucking old sometimes,” Silver whined.

Or that.

“And you’re a fucking brat,” Flint spat back. “Just bloody leave, if you’re so unhappy, so I can finally have some fucking peace!”

Silver got up and tossed both the rod and his curls dramatically. “Fine!” He turned on his heel and stomped off toward their cabin. He managed to resist the urge to look back to see if Flint was looking. Serves him right, grumpy old fool. Why had a young, feisty thing like himself ever gone for that dried up, ginger prune? Silver kicked a stone in his path, scaring some pigeons out of a bush.

Silver hated the countryside. It was bugs, sap, and mud, and nothing but the eerie crying of the foxes and owls at night. Flint loved coming here a few times a year, apparently, and Silver was trying to be supportive of it, as any good boyfriend should. He wasn’t doing a good job, but it was the thought that counted, right? He was here, “enjoying” the stupid dirt.

After a thirty minute trek, the cabin finally came into view. Silver sighed in relief. He could just lay down on that lumpy, orange sofa, crank up his playlist on the headphones, and pretend this whole thing wasn’t happening. On the way to the door, he stopped and backed up a few steps, to peek into the front yard. Wait, hadn’t he left the clothes on the line this morning?

He rushed towards the backyard and was met by the dullest stare in the world, in the form of a goat’s bulgy eyes. She was sat on two of his white tees while chewing placidly on a third black one.

“Georgie! You fucking menace!” Silver yelled, snatching the t-shirt in her mouth.

What she lacked in size, Georgie made up for in determination. Silver tried his hardest to save the garment, but the little brown goat’s jaw was deadlocked.

“Let gooooooo!” Silver set his feet on the floor and pulled with all his body weight. Now it was just a question of honour.

Georgie did the same and started giving the shirt sharp tugs on her end.

Silver pulled harder. “You fucking dem— Aaaaaah!” The resistance on Georgie’s end stopped abruptly, and Silver fell on his arse.

Could goats look smug? Silver bellowed in frustration. He crumpled the ruined shirt and threw it at the goat’s face, which seemed to unsettle Georgie enough to leave Silver’s general vicinity.

Blowing his curls upwards, Silver bent to pick up the salvageable white tees and walked back toward the cabin.

Once inside, he plunked himself on the sofa and made quick work of taking off his prosthesis. Silver groaned. He felt like flinging everything he picked up. He slumped down on the sofa and fished his phone and headphones out of his jean pocket. Turning the volume all the way up, he closed his eyes.

He was unsure how much time had passed when he felt himself be jostled. He was floating; no, being carried. Presumably to bed. He blinked upward and saw Flint’s beard. Even from this angle it was a perfectly groomed ginger hedge. Silver’s beard grew all over the place and demanded constant attention; even Georgie’s beard was more respectable! But of course Flint’s stupid beard was immaculate and steady and… mature.

He snuggled closer to the solid, warm chest pressed against his cheek and sighed deeply.

Stupid, perfect old man.


	2. Underwear - Drinking - Music - Drinking

Flint could hear the music blasting from outside their building, even before he got close to the front door. For a second, he considered the possibility that it wasn’t coming from their flat but he knew better by now. Might be worth trying to get Silver to have his ears checked...

With any luck, the obnoxiously loud tunes meant he was finally doing some cleaning around the house.

By the time Flint put key to lock he no longer had any doubts. He opened the door only to be assaulted by a young man’s singing about blooming. A part of him reeled at the strident sound that was so _not_ his type of music but another part of him warmed, as it often did these days, at the realisation that this young artist enjoyed the freedom to be himself and still be celebrated by the mainstream. They hadn’t gotten far enough _yet_ , but the progress from his younger days to now, sometimes, felt breathtaking to Flint.

It allowed him to enjoy, without any lingering shame or legal repercussions, the spectacle unveiling before him: John Silver twirling around their living room, dancing, in nothing but a white, Calvin Klein jockstrap.

So much for housework; that was the most nude Cinderella he’d ever laid eyes on. Flint highly doubted he was going around dusting the furniture with the sparse fabric covering his crotch.

Swaying his hips with his eyes closed, Silver hadn’t heard him come in yet. “Yeah, I bloom, I bloom, just for you,” he screeched along to the stereo.

As beautiful a view as he made, long expanses of tanned skin moving sinuously, a singer John Silver was not.

“I bloom, just for youuuuuuuuuuuu…”

Good grief. Flint chuckled. His ears begged for mercy, but his eyes…

Silver grabbed his own curls and rumpled them, swaying his head from left to right dramatically. He turned around and had just started shimmying his chest when he finally opened his eyes and saw Flint.

He stopped abruptly, but the shock and shame at being caught out was momentary. He started shimmying something else at Flint.

Flint’s smile turned into a lip-bitten grin.

“I. Bloom. Just. For. You,” Silver sang. He pointed a finger at Flint and took a step closer to him with every word enunciated. “Baby, baby, I’ve been saving this for you…” Silver motioned with his finger for Flint to come closer.

Flint remained where he was, but at this distance he was able to notice Silver’s bloodshot eyes. He scanned the room and oh, there it was, that blasted pink bottle.

Bad day at the shelter. Hopefully, not irretrievably so.

Silver finally got close enough to put his arms around Flint’s neck and for Flint to smell Silver’s boozy breath. Flint slid his hands down to Silver’s naked buttocks and squeezed.

“Can we please stop blasting a song about anal to the whole neighbourhood?” Flint said, snapping one of the white straps against Silver’s ass.

Silver giggled. “Only if you blast me,” he whispered hotly in Flint’s ear.

Flint guffawed and lifted him up.


End file.
